“I have a story to tell.”
said a woman,
as she sat down
amid the group
of strangers.
Nobody looked up,
all too engrossed
in their own
knots of conversation.
The woman,
faced lined,
hair lank
and going grey,
took a moment
to gather herself,
then cleared her throat
and tried again.
“I have a story to tell,
it’s a ghost story!”
That got through,
there were all here,
at this hotel
with a reputation
for being haunted
for a ghost hunt.
Almost en masse,
they turned,
a few seemed surprised,
as if they had not realized
someone was sitting there.
She continued,
now that she had their attention.
“It’s not my story,
it belongs to someone
I met once,
long ago.”
She shook her head,
thinking how odd is sounded
to say something as intangible,
as ephemeral
as a story
could belong to anyone.
“She stayed here,
a few years back,
for one night,
room 312.”
There were some murmurs,
room 312
was why there were here.
The room where
a woman took her life,
after finding out
her husband was cheating.
The room
that was the most active,
in a very haunted
hotel.
She had them now,
she knew it,
their interest
was piqued.
Although the hotel
tried to quiet the rumors,
they still got out,
and those that wanted
to experience
a haunted hotel
always managed to find out.
So, the week of Halloween,
the management
booked the hotel,
with these ghost hunters.
Year after year
she saw them come,
and year after year
she told her story.
“It was the year
after the suicide,
there had been
a few sightings,
but the room
was still being rented.”
All eyes were on her,
they hung
on her every word,
a few still holding
forgotten drinks,
it their hands.
“Her name was Rachael.
She was heading
to her hometown,
to visit family,
and stopped her
for the night.”
“She was tired,
kept to herself,
just checked in
and went to bed.”
A few people nodded,
they knew how it was,
traveling could be wearying.
“Shortly after 2 a.m.,
she woke.
A noise had disturbed her,
a drip, drip, drip.
Subtle but persistent.
Heading into the bathroom,
to see if a tap was dripping,
she saw the ghost.
It was in the bathtub,
pale, still,
floating in the ghostly remains
of the ****** water
she was found in.
She fell back,
nearly fainting
her heart nearly beating
out of her chest.
She could not believe her eyes,
it was not possible.
But there it was,
still lying there,
she could even smell
the moldy, rank smell
of a decomposing body.
And just where her horror
had reached its peak,
terror came to play.
The ghost sat up,
its translucent head
slowly turning
towards her,
the eyes,
closed permanently
so long ago,
opened,
looked at her,
froze her in place.
With a squishy sound,
the hand clenching
the edge of the tub,
released,
pointed at her,
and she heard
the long dead voice,
whisper her name.
She fainted.
When she came to,
without a word to anyone,
without taking time
to pack her bags,
she left the room,
the hotel,
possibly the state.”
She sat back,
waited,
the others sat
is stunned silence,
they had been captivated.
Finally, the spell broke,
one by one
they began to animate,
chat among themselves.
One person,
more critical than the other
posed a question.
“If the woman left
without a word,
how did you come
to hear her story?”
At that point,
behind the group,
a waiter dropped
a tray of glasses.
The group turned,
startled,
and when they turned back,
the storyteller had vanished,
as if she had never been there
at all.